Cold Wind
by Hobsonphile
Summary: An EXTREMELY PESSIMISTIC outlook on the Guber/Peters relationship. Depending on the response, I may flesh this out and make it a longer, more involved story, so please R/R!


Cold Wind  
by Steph  
  
Codes: GUBER ANGST, Scott and Steven  
Rating: PG-13, suggestions of violence, but nothing really explicit  
  
Introduction and Disclaimers: This story was inspired by a dream I had last night. BE FOREWARNED: This story has an EXTREMELY PESSIMISTIC outlook on the Guber/Peters relationship. I hope, for Scott's sake, nothing as horrible as this actually happens.   
  
Of course, all recognizable characters belong to DEK. My id just wouldn't let them go, so I had to borrow them for a bit, with no profit being gained on my end. Depending on the response, I may flesh this out and make it a longer, more involved story, so PLEASE send me feedback!  
  
*****  
Cold Wind  
by Steph  
  
In the Massachusetts General Emergency Department, as the Thursday afternoon gradually gave way to the murky dusk, things were slightly busier than normal. A brief period of late-season freezing rain, which began just before the lunch hour, had generated the inevitable stream of slip-and-falls, fender-benders, and other injuries, keeping the emergency staff on their feet almost continuously. A significant number of non-critical patients and their families milled about the waiting room, talking to each other in low voices that seemed to blend together into an omnipresent hum. Occasionally, one voice would rise above the rest: "Have the lab results come back?" "How much longer do we have to wait?" "Mooooom, I'm hungry!" The last was heard when the dinner carts rolled by, the smell of chicken and mashed potatoes wafting through the air and mixing with the antiseptic smell that seemed to permeate every hospital. And at times, when the door was opened to allow a person's entrance or exit, the waiting crowd was forced to pull their jackets closed against the encroaching cold.  
  
All of this, however, escaped the attention of Steven Harper, who sat alone in one corner of the waiting room, bent over, his forehead resting on his fist, almost in an attitude of prayer. After nearly two weeks, they had finally found Scott Guber tonight.  
  
Why hadn't he seen this coming? Actually, thinking about it now, Steven realized that he had seen this coming- and Scott had too, deep down. Nagging doubt had been an ever-present friend for both of them over the past several months. But as soon as these apprehensions made their way to the surface, they were instantly buried, rationalized away by a friend's loyalty... or a lover's devotion.  
  
Steven's dark thoughts were interrupted by the voice of a child. "What do you have, mister?" Steven looked up to find a girl of about nine years watching him with curious hazel eyes.  
  
"Oh," Steven rasped, "I'm not here for myself, honey. I'm here for... a friend." His voice broke on "friend" and he cleared his throat.  
  
"Well, what does he have?"  
  
At that moment, a harried woman rushed up and grabbed the girl by the arm. "Sarah, don't talk to strangers in the waiting room," she admonished. Then to Steven, she explained, "I'm sorry- my daughter got very interested in medicine recently. I hope she didn't bother you."  
  
"No, it's okay." Steven smiled sadly. "I have a daughter too. Well... she's seventeen now, but I remember when she was nine."  
  
The mother smiled back in relief, than took her daughter over to the other side of the waiting room and began to talk to her quietly. Once she left, Steven returned to his thinking position, images and sensations from the events of that afternoon coming unbidden to his mind: the chill of the basement, dark save for a few beams of light shining through a window near the ceiling; Scott, bruised and bleeding, fighting for life; the terror in his friend's blue eyes at the sound of footsteps; and the weight on Steven arms when Scott's knees finally buckled and he succumbed to unconsciousness. These were things that were going to haunt Steven's dreams for a long time to come.  
  
"Mr. Harper?"  
  
Steven bolted upright. Standing in front of him was Dr. Winston Potter, wearing an expression of professional concern. "How is he?"  
  
"Physically, Mr. Guber is going to be fine. I've admitted him for observation- I'll show you to his room once he gets situated."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"My biggest concern is his emotional state. I've seen a lot of domestic violence cases come through here, but not many were quite this bizarre. You're his friend?" Steven nodded. "He's going to need a lot of help from you in the coming months."  
  
"I know." Steven's voice was tinged with sadness.  
  
"He's tough, though," the doctor reassured Steven, placing a hand on his shoulder. "He survived for _two weeks_, Mr. Harper. Remember that- I think he'll make it through this."  
  
Later, as Steven followed Dr. Potter, he struggled to attain that same level of confidence. Scott needed him, he kept scolding himself. It wouldn't do Scott any good to get upset. When he finally reached the door to Scott's room and the doctor agreed to give him some privacy, he drew in a breath, steeled himself, and stepped inside.  
  
What Steven saw once he crossed the threshold gave him pause. "Scott?" His friend had pulled himself upright and was halfway out of bed, clutching the opening in his hospital gown with one hand, the other supporting his weight. "Where are you going?"  
  
Scott looked up and Steven once again winced at the battered state of his face. In Scott's eyes flickered guilt and a fair amount of embarrassment. "Um..." His voice caught, and he started over. "I have to..." He cast his gaze downward and his ears, which were largely undamaged, took on a pinkish hue.   
  
Steven caught on. "Oh." He shifted his feet in discomfort and cleared his throat. "Are you sure... are you sure you don't want me to get someone to-"  
  
"_No!_" The forcefulness of Scott's response made Steven flinch and step back. Seeing his friend's stricken expression, Scott closed his eyes tight against the roar of his emotions and took several deep, ragged breaths in an attempt to regain composure. "No," he repeated, quieter this time. Opening his eyes, his fixed Steven with a pleading look.  
  
Steven knew immediately what was at stake- Scott was grasping for some remaining shred of self-worth, some sense of control over his circumstances. And Steven was once again reminded how strong his friend could be. He nodded wordlessly- he would allow Scott his dignity.  
  
Stiff and in pain, it took Scott almost ten minutes to attend to his needs. When he returned, he sat down on the bed with a small sigh of relief, but, curiously, did not lie back against the pillows. Instead, he remained perched on the edge of the mattress, on guard, staring out the window situated across from his bed.  
  
Night had fallen by then, and a thousand lights twinkled in the view. A gust of wind blew by with a whistle and Scott shivered, as if one narrow, icy finger of winter had penetrated the windowpane and touched his thinly clad form.  
  
Steven watched Scott in silence for a long moment, then moved to sit next to his friend. "Scott?" he began kindly. "Are you going to be okay?"  
  
Scott glanced at Steven and opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it and shook his head. "I don't know." There was a long pause. Then, in a soft and desolate voice, Scott said, "I'm such a fool."  
  
"Oh, Scott..." Steven tried to sooth, but he was cut off.  
  
"I suppose I just wanted _so much_ for this to be real." Scott looked down at his hands.  
  
Steven sighed. "I know."  
  
"Steven?" Scott was facing Steven now, and Steven detected a small quiver in the smaller man's jaw. "It's never going to happen for me, is it?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Love. It will never be... _real_. Not for me." Scott choked on the last three words and snapped his gaze away from Steven's, but not before Steven saw a few errant tears fall from Scott's eyes.  
  
Steven was completely at a loss. Over the years, he had seen Scott exhilarated, furious, and dangerously close to breakdown, but he had never seen his friend cry. Scott's vulnerability, though obvious to everyone who knew him, had always been an intense source of shame for him. What could Steven possibly say to comfort him? What words could he use?  
  
After an extended beat, Steven rose from the bed, and pulled a chair over, sitting down in a manner that allowed him to face Scott directly. Gently placing a large hand on each of Scott's shoulders, he began quietly, "Scott... I admit, I had my doubts all along about this relationship. But I'm not going to tell you 'I told you so,' because that's not what friends do. Watching you with... Meredith- seeing your compassion and your devotion... Well, it made me realize just how much everyone is missing. You're a _good man_, Scott. Any woman would be lucky to have you." Steven squeezed Scott's shoulders for emphasis as he whispered, "Don't ever lose hope, my friend."  
  
Another tear spilled down Scott's bruised face, and he turned around slightly on the bed, pulling away from Steven's touch. "I'm sorry..."  
  
"Don't be. Scott, after what you've been through, you have every right to cry, stomp, kick, scream- whatever." A small, mirthless laugh escaped from Scott. "No one's ever told you that, have they?" Scott shook his head. "Well, I mean it, Scott. Anything you need to do to get through this, I am here. And I will _never_ hurt you."  
  
Steven touched Scott's arm, a small gesture of affection that seemed to reach directly to Scott's soul. For the first time that night, Scott smiled- it was not an entirely happy or peaceful smile, but it was a start.  
  
And in Steven, a modest seed of hope was planted- what ever storms lay ahead for Scott, Steven felt that maybe- just maybe- he could help steer his friend safely to port.  
  
The End? Or should I flesh this out and make it a longer story? Feedback please! 


End file.
